


white light fading

by savi0urdr3amer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Post-Talon Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Strap-Ons, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 18:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10599489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savi0urdr3amer/pseuds/savi0urdr3amer
Summary: For months Angela's had a desire to act out a very specific voyeuristic fantasy with her girlfriend. After hearing of it, who would Amélie be to tell her no?





	

**Author's Note:**

> the semester is winding down so u know what that means: time for SIN
> 
> shoutout to all the rad people in the mercymaker discord for taking my original smut idea and turning it into this, ur all wonderful and ily
> 
> enjoy ur sin, kids  
> (also my gay ass got rly excited to post this, so sorry if there's any mistakes/repetition, i'll fix that erm. eventually)

Angela hadn’t expected Amélie to say yes.

On top of that, she only had to mention it once _._

“I want you to watch me…” Amélie eyed Angela through her peripherals, her glare serious but not free of interest. Her brows rose as Angela spoke and a smile pulled at the corners of her plum lips. “Through your scope. From somewhere I can’t see you.”

“All right _._ I’ll see what I can do, chérie.” Amélie’s sneer was wicked and plotting as she took a sip of her tea far too nonchalantly. It was like they were talking something as casual as dinner or shopping, certainly not a filthy voyeuristic fantasy that had been plaguing Angela for months.

“Really? I thought you’d be against it.” Angela couldn’t even hide her surprise. Her cheeks flushed and she knew from the look Amélie gave her that she was already planning something devious.

“Oh, quite the contrary.” She assured, looking up at Angela with just her eyes. The intensity that seeped through them was far too deliberate. “I’d like that _very_ much, chérie.”

The way Amélie’s voice rose at the end made it seem like she was asking a question, but Angela knew exactly what it meant: that Amélie was toying with her.

“I’ll pull some strings.” Amélie continued as tendrils of steam rose from her mug. “And we’ll see how it plays out, _chaton_.”

Anticipation and arousal swept over Angela in one overwhelming wave, and as Amélie left that night she couldn’t help but wonder what in the _hell_ she had just gotten herself into.

Damn. She didn’t even have time to mention the new lingerie.

-

Angela gets home from work in the late evening to a surprisingly vacant apartment, save for a note attached to a box that sits on the table. The handwriting is unmistakably Amélie’s, cursive and written in loose, elegant swirls. At first Angela thinks it’s a gift and that she’s beaten Amélie home, but the first few words of the note immediately tell her that Amélie’s doing something far different than running errands. _Wear nothing but a slip over your lingerie._  It reads. _Pick any pair you want. Tell me when you’re ready._

She feels her chest sink as she opens the box, her exhaustion already replaced with a low, brooding heat. Angela's eyes narrow. It’s… an earpiece? She twirls it around with her fingers, steadily realizing what Amélie has in store for her. _Oh._ (Not to mention the earpiece is unmistakably Sombra’s craftsmanship, which she doesn’t even _want_ to think about right now. God knows what Amélie told her they were for…)

She places the piece in her ear but doesn’t switch it on as she makes her way to the bedroom. As she opens the door she notices that Amélie’s already made the bed, a usual habit of hers, and that the curtains are pulled over the balcony, keeping the room dark.

 _Well_ , she thinks, _at least she has even more of an excuse to show off her new lingerie now…_

Angela slips out of her labcoat and digs through her drawers, sifting through piles of unfolded lingerie. _Nope, that’s not right. That pair is too light… and that pair is purple, not black…_ She hopes that Amélie hasn’t already seen them, especially because they have a tendency to share clothes, but if she remembers correctly she put them towards the back of the drawer, where Amélie doesn’t look-

 _Aha._ She knows she’s found the right pair just based on the texture, which even _feels_ ungodly expensive. She blames Amélie for introducing her to French websites full of astronomically expensive lingerie, and if she’s honest with herself this is easily the priciest pair she owns now. It might even cost more than some of the pairs Amélie owns, which are notoriously intricate (not to mention a nightmare to remove).

But there are far worse ways that her girlfriend could rub off on her.

Matching thigh-highs came with the thong, along with a garter that’s unbelievably sexy but far too complicated to figure out right now, so Angela quickly stuffs it back in the drawer. _Another time_ , she tells herself as she slips out of her work clothes and into something far more rejuvenating, far sexier. She kicks her winkled scrubs, along with her shoes and labcoat, into the bathroom and makes a mental note to throw them in the hamper later. Amélie’s never been fond of her disorganized, messy habits, but at the moment she doesn’t fucking _care_ , not when she knows exactly what Amélie has in store for her tonight.

Angela pulls the panties up her thighs, immediately admiring how the thin, lacey straps hug her hips. Goddamn, this was a good decision. The bra fits perfectly, too- it’s hardly even enough to qualify as a bra, but it looks fucking _perfect_. Her nipple piercings poke through the sheer fabric, the silver barbells contrasting both light skin and dark lace, and putting the slip on feels almost like a sin.

Regardless, Amélie’s going to be pleased when Angela takes it off.

Angela walks towards the balcony, the silky slip hardly covering the black, see-through lace that adorns only slim portions of her milky skin. She pulls the curtains open, which makes moonlight spill through the exposed windows, illuminating the majority of her room and her bed in beams of silver. She flips the earpiece on and there’s a brief hum of static on the other end, fuzzy and soft.

“Amélie?” She says, still holding her fingers to her ear. Her eyes are fixated on the sky, dancing in the sea of stars above the darkened silhouettes of the trees.

 _“Je te vois._ ” A beam of scarlet suddenly pierces through the darkness and hovers between Angela’s exposed collarbones. Although Angela can see the general direction of the laser she can’t pinpoint exactly _where_ Amélie is, which shouldn’t be as arousing of a realization as it is.

Angela knows she can’t see Amélie, that she _won’t_ , but she still finds herself squinting, looking into a sea of blackness.

“Bon soir, chérie.” Amélie’s voice is like velvet, simmering with a low and dangerous hunger. “Ready to begin?”

“Yes.”

“Eager, are we? D’accord… Why don’t you start by taking the slip off. Let me see you.” Amélie orders resolutely.

A filthy thought hits Angela as the slip falls to the ground in a molten pool of silver. Maybe someone else can see her like this, undressed in front of a row of windows, exposing herself, wanting to be seen. For one, the lingerie leaves little to the imagination, and her nipple piercings are provokingly obvious, glimmering in the moonlight, which only adds to the lewd audacity of it all... _Look at the great Dr. Angela Ziegler, barely dressed, unashamedly showing off her piercings and her body to anyone lucky enough to be watching…_

“Parfait.” Amélie says. “Turn around, chaton. I want to see how you look from behind.”

Angela turns around with a sway of her hips and shivers, Amélie’s words like an aphrodisiac raking down her spine. It’s hard for Angela not to picture Amélie holding her from behind, her hands grazing over her skin with a tantalizing touch lighter than a feather. As her back faces the window she shifts her weight onto one hip and runs her hands up her sides, feeling the cool night air whirling around her. The tension in the air is so thick Angela can practically feel it dancing around her, mocking her.

“Magnifique… Now let your hair down.”

Angela pulls the tie out of her hair and runs her fingers through it as it falls just past her shoulders in loose golden waves, tickling her skin. A brief chill crawls up her back and spreads to the back of her neck, making a light, excited tremor roll through her body.

“You look _delectable_ , chérie.” The red beam moves towards the bed, urging Angela elsewhere. “Lie on your back.”

Angela sprawls onto the bed, pressing the back of her head onto one of Amélie’s plush pillows, and the comforter is soft and smooth against her skin.

“Good girl. Now take the bra off and touch your breasts for me,” Amélie murmurs steadily. Angela’s hands obediently snake to her back, and she unclasps the bra and discards it, running her fingers over her exposed breasts, her piercings catching the light as she squirms underneath her own touch.

“Like this?” Angela’s voice is low and husky, hardly more than a whisper. She’s ashamed at herself for how undignified she’s sounding already, how breathy and needy she sounds; they’ve barely even started and the heat between her legs is already becoming unbearable.

“Yes, _bonne fille,_ chérie. Your piercings…” The laser of her rifle circles around Angela’s nipples, steady and vivid and crimson. “Play with them. Just like when I tease you.”

Running her fingertips over her hardened nipples makes Angela shudder, and knowing that her girlfriend is perched somewhere watching her get herself off only makes her feel even more salacious, adding to the wanting, slick heat between her legs. A surge of tingles races down her spine as she pinches her nipple between her fingers, shifting the barbell back and forth, and the friction has her arching her hips up, up, _up_ , where she’s already imagining Amélie touching her-

“Ah-ah, don’t get carried away, _chaton_.” Amélie’s voice drops to a low growl. It’s a warning, Angela knows, and an arousing one at that, but testing Amélie’s patience tonight would be brutal. The last thing she wants is a punishment that’ll get her off slower, and that’s precisely what Amélie likes, so Angela presses her hips back down into the mattress, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary, and stills the movement of her hand until she can catch her breath.

Unfortunately Amélie doesn’t have plans of letting her off easy.

“I didn’t say you could stop, chérie. Did I make a mistake not tying you up tonight? That could easily be changed…”

“No, _no_ -” Angela blurts out, knowing immediately that she’s spoken out of line. _Fuck._

Amélie exhales sharply.

“No, _what,_ chaton?”

“No, _madame_ , I-I promise I’ll be good, madame.” Angela stumbles over her words pathetically, picturing Amélie’s fingers grazing over her piercings, her touch feather-light and painfully unsatisfying, just enough to keep her on edge.

Amélie takes in a long, deep breath, smug and surprisingly satisfied.

“Bonne fille. Now keep going before I change my mind,” The laser briefly hovers over her piercings again, turning the silver of her barbells bright, bright red. “Both hands this time, chérie.”

Angela’s eyelids flutter as she circles both nipples with her fingers, occasionally brushing over the ends of her barbells, and the contrast of cool, smooth metal against her heated, wanting skin makes her shiver. And to make matters worse, Amélie giving her orders only adds to the arousal budding in her chest, which is quickly fanning out and consuming her entire body, filling her with a wanton urge to both please and _be_ pleased. She can’t help itching to indulge in the temptation to just fucking _touch_ herself already, and despite Amélie being god-fucking-knows how far away it still feels like she’s right _there_ next to her, spilling orders from her pretty, pursed lips, her cognac eyes bright and sharp. She pictures Amélie’s eyes scanning her body slowly, deliberately, watching idly as she falls apart, amused at the fact that someone so composed gets herself off in front of her girlfriend and _enjoys_ it.

“Look over at the window, chaton. Like you’re looking at me.” Amélie breathes. Angela’s eyes flicker towards the direction of the laser and she can only imagine how fucking desperate she must look, her blue eyes fogged and unhinged, craving to be touched.

Angela unsuccessfully chokes back a whimper and her body feels like fire. She plays with both of her piercings and doesn’t blink, knowing now that Amélie is watching more intently than ever.

“Yes, chérie, just like that,” Amélie purrs, not even trying to hide how badly she wants this, too. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You’ve tied my hands behind my back a-and press a vibrator to my clit-” The words come spilling out of Angela’s mouth before she can rein herself in, but she’s so turned on she can’t bring herself to give a damn. “and I want to come so fucking _badly_ but you set it to the lowest setting and tell me to be a good girl and wait.”

“Mm. What else?” Amélie pries as the red beam swirls down her ribs. “Follow the line I make with one hand, chaton. Keep the other where it is.”

Angela gently follows the languid shapes that Amélie traces on her skin, deliberately fleeting, and she envisions that they’re Amélie’s hands teasing her, watching her crumble slowly.

“You bury your hand between your legs and _fuck_ yourself in front of me,” Angela pants softly, fingers dancing over her belly, so close to where she aches to be touched. Goddamn, she can feel herself dripping, getting wetter by the second, and she holds her nipple between her fingers as she circles her navel, trying so hard not to arch her hips up again. “And then you turn the vibrator up and tell me that I’m not allowed to come before you.”

Angela fails to hold back a whine and Amélie hums smugly, almost chuckles. It’s a low, deep sound that comes from the back of her throat and it makes Angela spread her legs wider instinctively, knowing that Amélie wants more from her, wants to see that she’s desperate and sopping wet and on the verge of begging.

“Are you wet for me? Do you want me to fuck you, Angela?” The way Amélie says her name gives her goosebumps, her voice like the edge of a blade. It only makes her even more aware of the way her cunt clenches around nothing, how her clit swells and pulses beneath a flimsy pair of panties she’s likely soaked through.

“Yes,” She says back breathlessly. A brief sound of static comes from the earpiece and it hits her that there’s a surprising amount of intimacy in this, one that she hadn’t really expected. Perhaps she’s playing with the fact that Amélie’s watching through the scope of a weapon, shamelessly into the way it invigorates her, gives her a sense of danger that’s false but no less genuine than the feeling she’d get on the battlefield back in her Overwatch days. Back when Amélie was still with Talon and they were enemies.

The laser keeps trailing down, finally resting at the apex of her thighs, and Angela can hardly force herself to wait for Amélie’s command.

“Touch yourself.”

God, the words make Angela thrill, her whole body alight with arousal; heat shamelessly rolls through her as she finally, _finally_ slips a hand between her legs, her inner thighs trembling at just the slightest touch. Her fingers slip beneath the fabric, eager to find waiting wetness, and she can hardly contain the sigh of relief that escapes her lips-

“Ah, no, chaton,” Amélie interrupts cruelly, sadistically. “ _Over_ the panties first.”

An exasperated, soft growl claws its way out of Angela’s throat and she reluctantly obeys, now only grazing over the lacey, thin fabric with her fingertips, squirming at the lack of skin-to-skin contact. The need for relief is even stronger now, a frustrating and smoldering flame eating away at what little self-control she has left. She exhales sharply as she traces over her clit, and even the softest of touches threatens to make her entire body quake. She can’t keep this up for much longer, not when she’s this riled up…

“Is something wrong, chérie? You seem quite frustrated.” Amélie mewls, fully aware that Angela’s hanging by a thread. At this point Amélie’s simply _toying_ with her, watching her resolve crack for nothing but her own amusement. Amélie’s always enjoyed watching someone so stoic unravel so ungracefully at her command, drinking in Angela’s desperation like an expensive glass of wine, happily becoming drunk on the power it gives her.  

“No, madame. T-Thank you, madame.” Angela chokes out, hoping that she sounds far less cross than she feels. Another shudder runs through her body and she forces her hips down again, knowing far too well that even the slightest bit of friction is enough to fuck her over.

Amélie lets out something between a sigh and an exhale.

“Hmm. How considerate of you, chaton. You even remembered to thank me… What a good girl you are. I suppose it’s only fair that I reward you.” Amélie says matter-of-factly, though her voice is ripe with satisfaction. “Show me just how wet you are. I want you dripping.”

The praise makes Angela bite her lip so hard she nearly tastes blood, and she pulls her panties down far faster than she would’ve liked. The ghost of Amélie’s touch hovers over her pale skin in the form of a slim, sanguine dot, making the wetness glistening between Angela’s legs even more apparent, her clit swollen and aching, begging to be touched.

Oh, right. And the panties. She’ll figure out where she threw them later.

“Lovely.” Amélie purrs. “Now touch your clit with one hand and tease yourself with the other.”

Angela’s hand is already between her legs before she can register it, her fingers drawing circles on the needy bundle of nerves, and she can’t even stop herself from grinding into her own touch anymore. Grazing her inner thighs only makes her buck her hips more, desperately searching for Amélie’s body above her, for something that’ll give her the fucking _friction_ she needs.

There’s already spots in her eyes, white-hot as her own fingers trace the jut of her hips, hardly different than Amélie’s touch, and she can feel the searing pressure building in her core, her nerves drunk on pleasure, cunt pulsating and _pulsating_ , urging for more. Angela lets out a shaky moan as she envisions Amélie’s fingers inside of her, slender and deft and painfully talented, curling up towards the spot that makes stars scatter in her eyes.

“I-I need more, madame,” Angela chokes out, wrung with desperation, feeling herself dripping. “I’ve been _good_ for you…”

“And what do you say, chaton? I haven’t given you _permission_ yet.”

“ _Please, god please._ ” She huffs, gasping, her muscles trembling.

“Fuck yourself for me. I want to see you come.”

Thank _god_. Amélie’s commands have never sounded so angelic.

Angela sinks two fingers into her cunt, easily swallowing them to the knuckle, and she finds nothing but raw, primal need there. Her other hand moves from her hips to her clit, tracing it in loose circles as her fingers arch up inside of her, her cunt clenching, nipples hard and tingling, body fuzzy and flushed. She wants this so fucking badly, eyeing the laser between her legs shakily as she fucks herself into oblivion, her back arching, hips rolling into her hand, and Amélie breathes heavily on the other end, her moans soft and low, only adding to the arousal jolting through Angela’s body. She hears her cursing softly in broken French as the laser disappears, and it occurs to her that Amélie is getting herself off now, too.

That realization alone has Angela on the edge, so close to coming a sharp, wanton cry spills out of her pursed lips. She thinks of Amélie’s face as she buries her own hand between her legs, frantically pressing against her clit, her brows furrowing as she thrusts her fingers in and out of her cunt, her dark lips pursing into the shape of a perfect little _o. Fuck._

Angela comes first. She comes hard and fast and messily, slickness coating her entire hand, and she still gets off to Amélie’s moans as they become more frantic, broken and desperate.

“ _Amélie_ ,” She pants, overstimulated, white spots still exploding behind her eyelids.

“Ride it out, chaton.” Amélie growls with a gasp. “Don’t you _dare_ come before me.”

“B-but-“ Angela stammers, her cunt puffy, clit tingling.

“ _Ride it out.”_ Amélie orders again, strained. “Keep fucking yourself until I get there. If you’re good, I’ll reward you…”

She doesn’t need to say anything else. In a blink, Angela’s fingers are back on her clit and she curls back into the spot that makes her scream. _Well, if she’s good, she supposes she can hold out a bit longer…_

_-_

Two hours later Angela’s damn glad she did.  

She’s on all fours now, her face buried into the crook of a lipstick-stained pillow, and her ass is in the air, cunt presented to Amélie shamelessly, readily. Behind her Amélie, naked save for a set of straps on her hips, presses the strap on between her thighs into Angela’s waiting cunt, and even the slightest intrusion has Angela whimpering, so overstimulated but simultaneously turned on it makes her quiver like a bitch in heat. She backs her hips into the toy, seeking more pressure, more friction, and Amélie roughly presses her harder into the mattress, fingers pushing into the sensitive space between her shoulderblades.

With a low chuckle Amélie turns on the vibrator pressed to Angela’s clit and thrusts into her without warning, filling the dark room with wanton moans and wet desire.

“You’ve been so good for me tonight, chaton…” Amélie hums, her voice almost muted by the soft buzz of the vibrator. “Why don’t you give me another orgasm? Surely you have another one in you…”

Angela’s lost count of how many times she’s come tonight, but that’s the least of her worries right now. She lets out a broken sob as Amélie pounds into her harder and turns up the speed of the vibrator, and as her toes curl and white bursts in her eyes she knows she wouldn’t have it any other way.

-

Oh, yeah. And she’ll have to thank Sombra later for the earpieces, too. They were a good decision. 


End file.
